


Tales from a Pub Quiz

by notevenjokingfic



Series: Tales From ... [2]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 13:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notevenjokingfic/pseuds/notevenjokingfic
Summary: A Friday night pub quiz offers up some fierce competition, and flirty banter that results in Jamie and Claire winning the ultimate prize...a lifetime together.





	1. Part I

**  
**He sprints through the Tube, dodging tired commuters late on a Friday night. He takes the stairs two at a time until he ends up at street level. The lights are popping on as evening falls, and he takes off down the sidewalk, his messenger bag bouncing on his hip, hitting people as his long legs eat up the distance. With every pedestrian run-in cries of _Oi!_ and _Sod off!_ follow him along the way. He shouts a _Sorry!_ over his shoulder from time to time as restitution for his actions. **  
**

He’s late. When he enters the pub it’s already crowded. The sound of _Jamie!_ rings through the establishment and for a moment every week he feels like that guy in the American sitcom his father used to watch, the guy who enters the pub and everybody knows his name. 

He spies his mates at their usual table, and maneuvers his body between chairs packed tightly together, his satchel held up and out of the way so as not to hit anyone in the back of the head. He squeezes himself between the wall and the table, settling his 6’4” frame into a seat. He drops the bag to the floor, loosens his tie, and grabs for the pitcher of beer as his friends all talk at once. 

_Slàinte_, he says, raising his glass. 

_Jamie, mo bhràthair, are ye ready?_ his best friend and brother-in-law says, a pen gripped tight in his hand, prepared to record the answers.

_Aye_, he says and takes a long drink letting the cold liquid settle him down from the sprint to arrive on time. 

The quiz starts with a factual round, and the first question is easy. _What’s the capital of South Africa’s Cape of Good Hope province?_

_Cape Town_, he says. _Christ, tonight’s going to be a joke_. 

He takes another sip and looks around the room. It’s a packed crowd for a Friday night but he isn’t surprised. The winnings this weekend are high, the current stake £500. The place quietens down, heads bent to the task. 

Ian reads the questions, Jamie answers them. And so it goes, question after question, the topics ranging from nature, to history, to geography. They move on to sport, entertainment, movies and music. The other guys can finally help answer now, Rupert being a sports fanatic and Angus, a movie buff. Still, Jamie answers the bulk of them, his mind a trap for trivia and interesting facts. He’s been blessed with a photographic memory. If he’s read it, he can recall it. By closing his eyes he can see the answer in whatever medium he discovered it, be it print or digital. He’s a voracious reader, and grew up watching quiz shows on the telly with his Da, after his Mam died. 

When the round is done the men hand in their answers, secure in the knowledge that the money is theirs for the taking. Jamie unwinds himself from his cramped position and heads to the bar to take his turn buying a round, and to order some food. He looks around while he waits for the bartender.

He loves his local, loves seeing the same faces, week after week. School chums, neighbours, people he’s known all his life. There are very few strangers in the crowd. 

_Feeling lucky tonight, Jamie?_ the bartender asks, laughing as he hands him two pitchers.

_Aye, Alec, slam dunk tonight_. He’s confident because he can be. He’s never cocky, just self-assured in the way of a man who recognizes his own talent. People don’t think less of him for it because he’s proven himself. No one expects to win when Jamie shows up. The bartender promises to send over the food when it’s ready. 

Jamie balances the pitchers as he navigates his way back to his seat saying hello, trading small talk with familiar faces. 

The host of the pub quiz is Old Man Gowan. He was old when Jamie was a wee lad, and he looks downright ancient now. Stooped shoulders, sparse grey hair, small round glasses. His voice is still strong though, his wit sharp. 

_Weel, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve had a surprise tonight_, the elderly man says into the microphone mounted on the tiny platform in the corner of the pub. Everyone laughs thinking it’s a joke, since it’s never a surprise when Jamie’s team wins.

_It seems,_ Ned Gowan continues, _we’ve got a draw tonight._

The noise in the pub rises, then falls as the news hits the patrons’ ears. Ian, Rupert and Angus all look at Jamie. 

Jamie is looking at Ned, waiting for the punchline. 

_So that means, we need to have a lightning round. One representative from each team to come up front, please._ Ned points an arthritic finger towards their table. _Jamie-lad, come along_.

Jamie stands up slowly, sees the faces of everyone looking at him. As he drains his glass there are cheers for the local boy. He’s stalling for time trying to school his expression so it doesn’t betray the confusion and intrigue at this turn of events.

_And we’ll need a representative from Team…_ Ned consults the piece of paper in his hand. _Oh my, weel, from Team Wet Nurses_.

The crowd titters, people crane their necks to see who this might be. 

Jamie watches as a woman rises from a table in the middle of the pub. Her hair is dark, long, with falling ringlets. She’s tall, curvy, wearing a short denim skirt that shows off the roundness of her arse to perfection. She’s sporting a man’s white dress shirt, knotted at the waist, a sliver of her creamy skin showing. He can see the black bra underneath. 

He exhales slowly. 

_Fuckin’ hell_, he hears Angus say. 

She winds her way through the crowd, and chairs shift to and fro making room for her to pass. Wolf whistles and shouts of _Get ‘im, darlin’_ follow in her path. She stops suddenly and looks back over her shoulder at him, and he’s frozen. She smiles ever so slightly, a smile of provocation, a dare. She raises a dark eyebrow in question, her expression egging him on, silently asking what he’s waiting for. 

She steps up on the platform and sits on the high stool that Ned has provided. She’s given a whiteboard, and a dry erase marker. She crosses one long leg over the other, and the denim rides up a little higher. 

Jamie makes his way up front, keeping his eyes downcast lest he give away his lustful thoughts. 

He finally takes a seat next to her, the distance respectable. He rests one foot on the rung of the stool, the other is stretched out in front, balancing him as he perches on the edge of the backless chair. 

Finally, he meets her gaze. Her eyes are like honey, warm and golden. 

_Good luck_, he says, offers his hand. 

_I won’t need it, but thanks,_ she says as her hand meets his. 

He leans toward her conspiratorially, _I’m no’ the one goin’ down tonight,_ he says quietly so the people up front can’t hear. 

She smooths a hand across her lap, the meaning clear. _Wanna bet, Jamie-lad?_


	2. Part II

He takes her hand in his. _Good luck._

She sees the flash of good natured taunting in his eyes so she answers back, cheeky, _I won’t need it, but thanks._

When their skin touches, the feeling is electric. 

She can see the outline of another world on the periphery, but it’s all shadows and smudges. The only thing that is clear and sharp is this man, and his blue eyes. Unclouded, bright, impossibly light in colour. 

His personality is behind those eyes. She can see the teasing, the wit, the good, kind temperament. She can see his intelligence, his confidence. 

_‘Jamie!’_ is a well-dressed, well-built, redheaded god. She watched as he arrived late, the crowd shouting his name like a rock star. She turned to see just who this magical man might be and forgot to breathe. 

She’s tall, but he’s half a foot taller. He moved like a cat, lithe and sure. He focused on the table by the bar as he weaved through the chairs with ease. Her pulse quickened, and she found it hard to pull air into her lungs. 

He is, in a word, gorgeous. And obviously, very clever. 

But then again, so is she. Raised by an archaeologist uncle, she studied all over the world, learned various languages, observed different cultures. A news junkie and somewhat of a loner, her life was filled with the solitary pursuit of reading. Claire’s friends were fictional heroes, daring historical figures, political masterminds. Along with her medical studies, there isn’t a topic she can’t tackle, a subject she can’t discuss. She was a brilliant scholar, top of her class. Books were her first friends, and her lasting loves. 

When Ned Gowan called it a draw, Claire knew instinctively that it was down to her and that red-headed deity they call Jamie. 

Sitting beside him now, in full view of the pub, she feels a rush of adrenaline. The thrill of competition with an equal, a fellow intellectual, has her buzzing. 

After a call to order by Ned, the lightning round starts.

They correctly answer one question after another, no hesitation, no mistakes. 

Jamie is a showman. He answers quickly, his penmanship strong and neat, delivered in capital letters. He flips the white board around to face the crowd with a flourish, sometimes acting like he’s in anguish over the answer, sometimes writing and erasing three times before presenting his response. It keeps the crowd entertained and the people cheering. 

He’s left handed, which means he’s a creative thinker, able to consider different possibilities, approaches, solutions. Claire thinks that might be to her advantage. There’s usually only one right answer in a quiz…and, if he overthinks, she may have the upper hand. 

Ned moves to a ‘Who Am I?’ round. The first riddle is Claire’s to answer.

_I use electricity and I killed my father. I am a king. I have a lot of girlfriends, but I also have a wife. Who am I?_

Before the question is finished being read aloud, Jamie spins on his stool to stare at her, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. His long legs are stretched out toward her, hands on his thighs, as he leans forward. His eyes are narrowed, daring her to get it wrong. Clearly, he knows the answer. It’s written all over his face. He leans closer still, trying to get her attention, to catch her eye. 

_Two can play at this game_, Claire thinks, and closes her eyes tightly, grits her teeth. She hears Jamie chuckle; he knows what she’s doing. She pretends to be stuck, like the answer is on the tip of her tongue. She bounces a foot, rubs her forehead. Then quickly writes Zeus, and timidly shows Ned her board.

_That’s right!_ he exclaims. Her friend, Geillis, the other member of Team Wet Nurse, whistles and claps.

And so it goes, one round after another, neither besting the other. If Jamie pretends to sneak a peek at her board, Claire hugs it and looks down her nose at him. If he takes too long to answer, Claire nudges his caramel coloured brogue with the toe of her leather bootie. The pub crowd roars to life with every exchange. 

Their banter is charged, the flirting obvious, the innuendo almost crossing a line. 

_Come on, Jamie! Finish her! _someone shouts. 

_Nay, man, _Jamie calls back, _best foreplay I’ve had in months._ Claire can’t help but laugh, a small blush coming to her cheeks.

_Clearly it’s not hard enough! _someone else shouts at Ned.

Jamie looks at her, his eyes alight. She’s set up for a classic comeback. He bites his lip in an effort not to laugh. 

She decides to throw caution to the wind. _I’ll be the judge of that later, thank you,_ she says, in her most British accent. 

Jamie plays to the crowd, stares at her, eyes narrowed as if considering her proposition. She meets his gaze boldly, raises an eyebrow.

The patrons burst into laughter. 

Gowan quiets the crowd, and asks another question. _How many Commonwealth countries are there? _

Jamie writes down 54, confident as he reveals his answer.

Claire turns her board, showing the number 53. 

_Ooooohhhh,_ the host says. _I canna believe it! We’ve a new winner!_

The crowd erupts, and Geillis stands up screaming, her arms straight up in the air as if Scotland has won the World Cup. 

Jamie is stunned. He looks at Claire sitting calmly on her stool. 

_You forgot that the Maldives left the Commonwealth in 2016. That makes it 53,_ she says. 

Jamie pauses for a minute, then starts to chuckle. He looks over at his friends, at their equally surprised faces, and laughs a bit more. He stands, puts his white board and marker on the stool, and steps off the platform. Claire watches as he moves off toward the bar, an empty feeling rising in her stomach. 

Ned calls for her attention, and makes a show of offering the prize money. She’s grinning and gleeful. When she turns around to face the crowd, Jamie is back, one hand outstretched to help her down the small step, the other holding a glass of champagne that he presents with a bow. She takes it, raises it high, and the crowd cheers. He’s nothing if not a gracious loser. 

_Well done, Sassenach._ He leans in, and kisses her once on each cheek. 

_Now that’s a question I wish I’d been asked! _ she exclaims. _Imagine the reaction to me knowing the Gaelic word for Outlander. _

_Wouldv’e been pure mayhem,_ he says, the sparkle in those translucent eyes wishing the same. 

The pub begins to empty out, so Claire turns toward Geillis. She hands her the envelope full of money, tells her to take out her half. Geillis shakes her head. _Ye’ve earned every bit of this tonight. _ She gestures with her head toward Jamie. _G’wan. Buy the man a drink. I’ll talk to ye tomorrow. _

Jamie watches as Geillis leaves, and sees Claire turn, sees her start to make her way to his table. His heart begins to pound in anticipation. 

_Fuck off, lads,_ he says. 

_What the - ,_ they begin to protest. 

Ian assesses the situation, grabs Rupert and Angus by their sleeves, and tugs. His brother-in-law understands right away, having been Jamie’s wingman forever. His friends are gone before she gets to him, having been waylaid by people offering congratulations.

_That was fun, _Claire says. 

_It really was, _Jamie agrees. 

_Can I buy you a drink? _Claire asks. 

_Ta, Sassenach. I’m a wee bit skint at the moment. I was supposed to come into some money, but that fell through,_ he says, pulling his front pants’ pockets inside out in mock poverty. He likes the way she laughs, the unguarded giggle, the punch it serves to his groin. 

Sitting at the bar, it’s a G & T for her, a pint for him. The bartender asks what they’ll have to eat, on the house. _Seems Old Man Gowan hasn’t had takings like tonight since the time his wife danced on the bar and forgot she wasn’t wearing knickers,_ he says to them. 

They laugh loudly, and Jamie orders a burger.

_Sounds good,_ Claire says. _I’ll have the same._

Jamie loves the way she digs into her food, no pretense, no pretending she doesn’t eat like this normally, a line so many women use on dinner dates. The conversation is easy and simple. 

After a while, their bodies begin to speak for them, as they turn toward each other unwittingly. Her feet find purchase on the rung of his stool, between his legs. He slides forward on his seat so that his thighs surround her legs. She talks with her hands, sometimes lightly touching his knee. Engrossed in a story, he lays one large hand on her upper thigh, the skin bare, his fingertips just touching the hem of her short skirt. She freezes, the words caught in her throat momentarily.

_Sorry,_ he says quickly, removing his hand. _I got carried away. _

_Go ahead,_ she says, her tone serious, her voice low. _Get carried away_. 

He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth is on hers and the kiss is hot, blistering her lips, blazing through her lungs depleting her body of oxygen. 

They stumble out of the bar, alive and pulsing. 

_Where can we go?_ she asks. _ I have a flatmate._

_Aye. Me, too_, he admits. 

By tacit agreement they head behind the building, if only to make out for a while longer. But one kiss leads to another. The loosening of his tie leads to the unbuttoning of her shirt. He groans at the sight of her black bra while she fumbles with his belt buckle. 

_Tell me you have a condom_, she whispers against his ear. 

_Aye, I do. But are ye sure? Here? _ Her answer is to dive a hand down his pants, and fill her palm with him.

_I need tae hear ye say it, Sassenach._

_Yes, here. Now. _ Her voice is confident. 

He digs into his wallet with trembling fingers, finds what he’s looking for. She shimmies out of her panties while he wraps himself. Finally, he reaches for her, lifts her by the back of her thighs, and guides himself into the depths of her heat. 

They pant together, mouths open, eyes half closed, savouring that first connection. 

She clings to him while he moves in her, the passion rising, the need building. 

_Christ, Sassenach,_ he says through gritted teeth, willing himself not to come too soon. 

The feel of him inside her is more than she imagined it could be. He took her breath away when he walked in the door, he stole her heart with his quick wit and sharp mind, now he is taking her higher than she’s ever been before. 

She comes like fireworks, a sharp ascent into the atmosphere followed by an explosion of light and colour behind her eyelids. Their breathing is harsh, erratic. He rests his forehead against her neck, she feels his lip drag along her skin. She lays her head against the brick wall, only now feeling the discomfort of the stone pressing into her back, into her buttocks. 

He lifts his head to kiss her while they disentangle themselves. It is a kiss of reluctance, of longing. A kiss of sustainment, something to live on long after this evening is ended. 

Because each wants the night to last forever, wishing their collective minds could find the answer to make it so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always special thanks to the best betas in the business, @missclairebelle and @balfeheughlywed , who cast a discerning eye and push me to make it make sense. 


	3. Part III

She swipes the fog from the bathroom mirror, sees the high colour across her cheekbones, the swollen lips, a hickey on the top of her breast. She turns her backside towards the glass, trying to see what caused the stinging sensation in the shower. There’s an angry scrape, a casualty of being pleasured against a brick wall. 

She takes a plaster from the medicine cabinet, then heads down the hallway to Geillis’ room.

_I need a nurse,_ she says. 

_That’s not like ye Claire_, Geillis says seriously, as she places a large square bandage over the red mark. 

_I’m not sorry,_ Claire admits. 

_I know, Petal,_ Geillis says, her eyes meeting Claire’s. _I’m no’ surprised, really. I mean, we all saw it. Why d’ye think everyone stayed so late? It was never about the quiz once you two got up on that wee stage. The heat between ye was palpable. _

_I never got his number. Never even gave him my name. _ Claire hugs the towel tightly around herself, regret trying to take hold of her heart. She won’t let it win. _I better get ready for work._

At the end of her day, in scrubs, hair knotted on top of her head, she arrives at the pub. A different bartender is on duty. She approaches, a piece of paper with hospital letterhead in her hand. A short note, with her name and number, is written on it. It’s stapled shut, with ‘Jamie’ written in neat letters on the outside. 

_Can I leave this with you for someone? For Jamie? _She tries to act professional, like she’s not a woman looking for a guy she picked up the night before. 

The bartender grins, and turns away briefly. He hands her an envelope with ‘Sassenach’ written on it in capital letters. She recognizes his handwriting immediately.

_Thank you,_ she says, genuinely relieved. _I’d like to leave this anyway, if I could. _

The exchange is made. Claire doesn’t wait. She huddles into a corner table, rips open the envelope with shaking hands. The words cover the page, and she doesn’t know whether to be relieved or scared.

The first thing that registers is his name and number in big, bold letters at the bottom of the page, boxed in by a red pen. As if she’d miss it. 

She begins to read. 

_Sassenach_, it starts, _I realized just after we parted that I’d been a complete numpty and never got your name or number. I cursed myself all the way home. I can only blame the fact that I was completely under your power, and happy to be there. _

_I’m writing this in the hopes that you might come back to the pub and ask after me. I hope you do. I hope you get this and call me, or text me so I can have your number. Because I don’t think I can function until I see you again. Or at least talk to you. _

_It’s gone near 2 a.m., and I can’t sleep for thinking about you. I keep seeing that round arse of yours when you first stood up to head to the front. Round and firm, and heart-shaped. I can’t stop thinking about how it felt in my hands later. I can’t stop thinking about those long legs, and how when you kept nudging my foot it made me lose my train of thought. I keep thinking about how good those legs felt wrapped around my waist. I keep thinking about your eyes. They’re the colour of fine whisky, Sassenach. The colour of a 10 year old Benromach, to be exact. Except when you come, then they’re as dark as a £235 bottle of Glenfiddich Winter Storm.   
_

Claire stopped reading, realized her breath was coming short, her heart pounding. She took a long shaky breath, picked up where she left off.

_But dammit, Sassenach, the biggest reason I can’t sleep isn’t because of how gorgeous you are or the mind-blowing sex. I am beguiled by your mind. I keep seeing the way you tilt your head to the side when you’re thinking, as if that helps you puzzle out an answer. It’s all there in your expression and it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever witnessed. You’re sharp, and clever, smart and sassy. You’re witty, and intelligent and that’s honestly the sexiest thing about you. I mean, knowing pieces of trivia isn’t on the level of Einstein or Plato, but it’s been my thing for so long. I never thought a woman existed who wouldn’t mock me for it, or at the very least, let their eyes glaze over at the mere mention of it. _

_You are a rare woman, Sassenach. And I’m a fool for letting you get away from me.  
_

_So please, if you get this, please text me. Or call me. I want very much to see you again.   
_

_Yours,_

_Jamie Fraser_

_P.S. It’s James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. Wee bit of trivia for you.   
_

_P.P.S. And I am very much yours._

She is into her third read when the pub door opens. She glances up, and her heart begins to beat double time. **  
**

Jamie.

She watches him walk purposefully toward the bartender, glancing around the nearly empty place. When those pale eyes land on her sitting in the corner he does a double take, and tries to course correct. He hits a chair, and stumbles. An enormous smile blossoms across his handsome face.

He walks over, grabs a chair, flips it backward, and straddles it. _Ye look like a nerd in yer scrubs,_ he says, by way of greeting. _A very sexy nerd.  
_

_At least I can walk through an empty pub without walking into a chair,_ Claire says, fussing with her top knot. 

_Ye came back_, he says, his voice low, serious. 

_I just came from work_, she explains. _I left you a letter, too. _

_Ye did?_ Jamie jumps up to retrieve it. _See? _he says, _Numpty. I was heading up there to ask after ye, but when I saw ye I forgot what I was about.   
_

In no time he’s back, brandishing her note. He sits back down, opens it slowly. He skims it, looking for her name. When he finds it he turns those clear blue eyes toward her once more.

_Pleasure to meet ye, Claire Beauchamp. _ She looks amused at his pronunciation, corrects it. 

_Ah. Like Beauchamp Road in Edinburgh,_ he says. _I like it. _

_I like your name, too,_ she says, _all seventy-five of them.   
_

He laughs loudly, not because what she said was that funny, but more because he’s just so damned happy to have found her again, to have her in front of him. 

_I meant every word,_ he says, gesturing with a nod toward the paper in her hand. 

_I’m sorry I didn’t say more, _she admits. _I wasn’t sure if, well, if it was what I thought it was.  
_

_It was, and more._ He reaches under the table to gently hold her hand. 

_You have the most gorgeous eyes._ It’s out of her mouth before she realizes. 

_So ye mentioned,_ he waves the hospital letterhead at her. 

His thumb rubs across her knuckles like a slow counting metronome. Back and forth, back and forth. The look in his eyes, and the rhythmic touch hypnotises her for a moment. 

_Have ye plans tonight, Sassenach? _ His voice is low, raspy. 

_No, no plans_, she says, breathless.

Months later she run-walks down the sidewalk, jaywalks across the busy street. She calls out _Sorry! _over her shoulder to a driver who honks at her, shouts _Are ye mad, lass?_

She’s late. When she enters the pub it’s already crowded. The sound of _Sassenach!_ rings through the establishment and she can’t help smiling at everyone. 

She spies his mates at their usual table, and maneuvers her body between chairs packed tightly together. She heads toward Jamie, who has settled his 6’4” frame into his usual seat, squeezed between the wall and the table. 

_Oh, No, ye don’t,_ Angus stands up, steps in her way trying to prevent any fraternizing, any possible distraction. Jamie straight-arms the wee man, his arm span pushing him out of the way. 

He leans across the table to plant a solid kiss on Claire’s lips. Some patrons shout _Get a room!_ while the romantic ones sigh at the gesture. 

She breaks the kiss, heads to her table. Picking up the G & T that’s been waiting for her, she lifts it in a silent cheers with Jamie, who picks up his pint, returns the gesture. Claire settles herself beside Geillis, her weekly partner in the Pub Quiz.

Jamie’s won the last two, and tonight the women mean business. 

_Good luck! _Claire shouts. 

_I won’t need it, but thanks, _Jamie says, raising his glass to her. 

_Dinna be rude, now, Jamie-lad,_ Old Man Gowan says, admonishing him with a finger wag. 

_Och, no, Mr. Gowan_, Jamie says, his remarkable blue eyes focused solely on the one woman who would hold his attention forever, his voice solid with conviction. _ It’s only because I’ve already won the top prize. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to @balfeheughlywed and @missclairebelle for helping me stay on track.


End file.
